


the oxford comma

by ouiripon



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-05 23:02:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4198374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ouiripon/pseuds/ouiripon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Midorima Shintarou—21, 3rd year college junior, major in Biochemistry and minor in Music—is known for having a stick up his ass. Enter Akashi Seijuurou—21, 6th year into college, double major in Management and Classics and Modern Language, minor in Oriental Studies—also known for having a stick up his ass, but he’s better at hiding it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the oxford comma

**Author's Note:**

> this was for midoaka month and i had this really solid thing goin on in my head and then that train just sped away....... so maybe i'll continue and update it?? if the train comes back
> 
> when will my muse come back from the war

            "The morning chill sweeps the Junior Common Room (JCR for short) providing a good relief from the blistering heat that would follow in the afternoon. The chill peaks precisely at 6am, and Shintarou Midorima prefers to exploit this temporary cold by waking up to read at such ungodly hour. Of course, he would have to wait for the staff at the lounge to open up before he would order his coffee—“black, thanks. No sugar and no cream”—and sit on the same sofa by the window to read whatever novel he was reading.

            When Shintarou reads at the crack of dawn, there is nobody to disturb him while he does so. He would notice students trickle in little by little at the eight o’clock mark. He would occasionally nod at the passerby who yawned in greeting, and maybe exchange a quick “good morning” to those enthusiastic enough, but most of the time, he kept interaction to a minimum, devoting all of his attention to the classics in his hand.

            One day, a stranger appears at the entrance. Shintarou briefly looks up, and goes back to his novel; he’s never seen him before, probably a freshman or a transferee. He doesn’t have to look up to notice the stranger going up to him and sitting uncomfortably close to Shintarou despite the ample space in the empty 7–person sofa.

            “Hello,” the stranger says. His smile is polite, and he holds a book in hand as well.

            “Hello.” Shintarou says back. He can’t keep the furrow out of his brows. “Would you mind if you sit a little further down the seat? There is plenty room.”

            “Of course,” stranger agrees, scooting towards the polar side of the sofa. “I apologize.” he doesn’t let the polite smile slip from his face, even when he opens a book of his own and starts reading. Shintarou pays him no mind, returning to his very own novel. His next class was to start in thirty minutes, and he at least wanted to finish a few chapters before having to put the book down.

            “I don’t think we’ve met before.” The stranger says.

            “I don’t think we have.” Shintarou does not want to meet him right now.

            “My name is Seijuurou Akashi.”

            “Shintarou Midorima.”

            “Nice to meet you.”

            “I as well.”

            The stranger—Seijuurou Akashi—says nothing more, letting the words in their respective novels do the rest of the talking.

 

 

\---

 

            Rain hits the window Shintarou sits by, tap-tap-tapping incessantly at the tempered glass. The sound soothes Shintarou's ears, who quietly turns the page of his novel. The empty common room is still and calm-- save for the breathing coming from Shintarou's left.

            Seijuurou flips another page, completely absorbed in the book in his hands.

            It’s been a week since Seijuurou started appearing in the JCR every morning, and Shintarou has taken the habit of glancing at him every so often—mostly involuntarily. Sometimes he cannot help himself. The presence of another being disturbs Shintarou in ways he cannot put into concrete words. Perhaps it's the air circulation, disturbed by a solid object to block the flow. Or perhaps it's his scent. Perhaps it's the air of royalty and intimidation that Seijuurou exudes that solidifies into a cold lump in Shintarou's stomach every time Seijuurou walks in and greets him with his customary "good morning, Shintarou."

            Today, Shintarou sneaks looks at the redhead because of the button down that's so tailored to Seijuurou's lean build. It is distracting. It is preventing Shintarou from turning to page 354, and Shintarou cannot find out if Dorian actually does kill his best friend. Shintarou lets out an inaudible sigh of frustration.

            "Is the book not to your liking?"

            Shintarou blinks, and looks up to see Seijuurou half-smiling.

            "It is intriguing at best." Shintarou mumbles. His voice cracks from the lack of use, and he clears his throat. "So far, it hasn't dropped my interest."

            Seijuurou nods. "Wilde's style of writing is certainly vivid--I find that he's better suited for plays. His flowery language gets tiresome in big blocks of paragraphs."

            "Do you usually read classic literature?"

            "I read plenty when I was growing up." Seijuurou puts his book down-- _Chronicles of a Death Foretold_ , Shintarou notes--and leans back, hands clasping on his lap. "I take it you read classics as well?"

            Shintarou puts down his book. "From time to time."

            Dorian can wait.

 

 

\---

 

            Every morning, Shintarou notices, Seijuurou brings a new book to read.

            “Do you finish every novel you read in a day,” he says one morning when Seijuurou enters, “or do you happen to read so many books simultaneously?”

            Seijuurou sits down at his respective seat at the end of the sofa. “I prefer giving my full attention to whatever I have at hand.” He says, leaning back. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean I finish all the books I start.”

            “That’s a waste.”

            “Some books just don’t catch my interest enough.” Seijuurou shrugs. “I only keep coming back to the ones that I find worthwhile.”

            Shintarou wonders if that applied to people as well.

 

 

\---

 

            A month passes by quickly, and Shintarou allots new habits in his morning routine. Today, he goes to the JCR, patiently waits for his coffee pre-prepared by the usual barista, and sits on the sofa to read. He checks his watch after an hour or so, and right on time, Seijuurou appears at the doorway. Shintarou is the first to greet him this time.

            “Good morning.” He says.

            “Good morning, Shintarou.” Seijuurou replies.

            Shintarou likes the way his name rolls off his tongue.

            Conversations between them are sparse, but succinct. Seijuurou double majors in Management and Classics and Modern Languages, with a minor in Oriental Studies.

            (“That’s a preposterous amount of work to deal with.” Shintarou says, eyebrow raised.

            “Six years was ample time to distribute the load.” Seijuurou replies.

            “Six years is ample time for university studies.”

            “I prefer taking my time with things. I would rather study to the fullest extent than jump right into a corporal setting mindlessly.” Seijuurou smiles, but his smile is bitter.)

            Seijuurou also, to Shintarou’s (secret) delight, takes interest in classical music and shogi.

            (“It would be great to be a professional player one day.” Seijuurou sighs.

            “It would be an honor to play against you.” Shintarou agrees.

            A fire lights in Seijuurou’s eyes. “Do you play?” Shintarou is compelled to say yes—a mistake on his end. The string of losses did nothing to lighten up his mood the entire afternoon.)

 

 

\---

 

            Lately, Seijuurou scoots closer and closer to Shintarou every morning. It is unsettling, but it electrocutes Shintarou with adrenaline that he cannot help but indulges in. Today, Seijuurou is half a foot away. Seijuurou peers into the book Shintarou is quietly reading.

            “He dies.”

            “That was completely unnecessary and unsolicited.”

            “I am saving you the trouble if in any case you were hoping he would live.”

            “Just go back to your own novel, Akashi.”

            “How many times must I tell you to call me Seijuurou?”

            “S…Seijuurou…”

            Seijuurou laughs, a genuine laugh that sends pleasant shivers down Shintarou’s spine. “That sounded quite painful for you.”

            “It’s just odd.” Shintarou insists, hunching over his book even more. “Stop laughing, you’ll wake everybody up.”

            Seijuurou wipes his eyes with a hand, and leans on Shintarou. “I apologize, that was rather cruel of me.” He murmurs, head resting on the other’s shoulder.

            “It’s alright.” Shintarou could only say. His neck grows warm, and his chest acts up. He makes no motion to push Seijuurou away.

            

The two lay on the sofa—as usual—saying nothing, letting the cool silence of the morning fill the rest of the words left unsaid.


End file.
